


The Journal

by Banshee1013



Series: Suptober 2019 Ficlets [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Loss, Reminiscing, Suptober 2019 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 18:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshee1013/pseuds/Banshee1013
Summary: Ficlet to accompany art for Subtober 2019.Day 7 - Battered and Bound.





	The Journal

**Author's Note:**

> Art can be found [here.](https://banshee1013.tumblr.com/post/188295336892/suptober-day-7-battered-and-bound-yeah-im)

“… After the twist, they’re permanently dead and will turn to dust.”

John finishes the latest entry in his journal, documenting the Vetala he just turned to dust. Thankfully, Bobby had the gouge on that one and just in time, too - but who knows how long that old coot will continue speaking to him.

Hell, the only reason he still talked to him at all was out of concern for John’s boys. He turned away from the book and the small table in the ramshackle hotel room to glance over the boys - little Sammy, curled up and fast asleep in the bed, Dean splayed out every which way on the couch. A soft smile briefly crosses his face, but doesn’t stay long.

Sighing, he rubs a hand across his neck and winces. Pulling the hand back bloody.

He needs a shower and some sleep.

Turning back to the small table, he drains the lukewarm coffee remaining in the cup. Brushes fingers over the medals in the cover of the journal. His father’s initials.

The picture of Mary. He raises two fingers to his lips and presses them back down over her picture. “Goodnight, my girl.”

With another tired sigh, he closes the battered cover of the journal and fastens it, then turns off the light, stumbling with exhaustion toward the bathroom and the hot shower awaiting him, to wash off the grime and gore. If only he could wash away his memories so easily.


End file.
